sábado, octubre 31, 2015

A poem by Brandel France de Bravo

“Returns & Exchanges” by Brandel France de Bravo

I’ve been in and out of stores
shopping for a metaphor
but can’t find what I’m looking for.
You say: My joints hurt.
I say: You need a new roof.
You say: I can’t swallow.
I say: You’re behind on your payments.
You say: I’m out of breath.
I say: the Bank wants it back.
You say: I can’t feel my toes.
I say: Let’s fill the john
with cement mix
and storm out to the applause
of the half-hinged screen door.
It turns out foreclosure
wasn’t what I wanted.
The customer is always.
With a credit to my account
I’m driving on an eight-lane highway,
faster than the speed limit,
semis like linebackers on either side.
You say: My joints hurt.
I say: None of the stations are coming in.
You say: I can’t swallow.
I say: Adjust the sun visor.
You say: I’m out of breath.
I say: look for a rest stop.
You say: I can’t feel my toes.
I say: Something’s trying to pass us.
We both can sense it
in the blind spot,
how it will overtake us.